The Horrors of Camp Fregoli
by Kiwi Werewolf
Summary: Coraline, Norman, Wybie and this OC chick Chane go to a camp called... wait for it... Camp Fregoli. Will ship anyone with anyone. Rated T because there's some swearing, horror, creepy situations, and basically all that good stuff. Horror always comes before romance, but there's going to be some romance too. I swear this story's better than it sounds...
1. Coraline's POV

**Chapter One  
Coraline**

I sit in the bus with my eyes closed and my music turned up loud, leaning against Wybie's arm, feet on the seat, generally not giving a damn about anything. The other kids are yelling and talking and laughing. Some are singing, which screws with my music rhythm and is part of the reason I've got it turned up so loud. It is cold inside the bus, because of both the super-efficient air conditioning, and because of the lack of sunlight from outside. The seats of the bus are made of black leather, with light blue highlights on the seat edges and the same colour carpet on the floor. The place smells of peppermint and sweat. Peppermint from whatever the hell they put in the air-conditioners; sweat from all the screaming kids who've been exposed to the cruel summer heat all day and apparently couldn't be bothered putting some stupid deodorant on. It surprises me that they gave a bus-full of fifteen-year-olds going on a budget camp such an awesome new bus, but hey, I'm not complaining. To be realistic, the bus ride's probably going to be the best part.

Outside of the bus lies the forest, dark and lush and undomesticated, surrounding the lonely path our bus travels through and swallowing up everything else. Whatever dull light gets filtered through the dense, looming trees is quickly stolen up by the impassive blackness of the forest atmosphere. It has been raining recently, or at least it was when the bus entered the forest, although you can't really tell and it's not like I'm trying to see anyways. All I can really see from the angle I'm at is a reflection of the light blue bus aisle, and as beautiful and natural that is to look at, I think I'm okay.

Wybie's head turns down to me and his lips move. His facial expression is one of weary, awkward affection, the face he's learned to wear for me some time in the middle of his puberty. The best-friend face. I take one earbud out and raise my eyebrows at him. "What?" I ask, and watch with some amusement as his tanned face flushes.

"I-I said, uh, what're you listening to?" he kind of mutters, and looks away, hazel eyes drifting over to his hands, which are clasped together in his lap. He hasn't really changed since I first met him. He's ditched the fireman jacket, which is nice, and has started dressing in his own collection of t-shirts and singlets and woollen jerseys. Today he wears a cotton green singlet which shows off both his disgusting hairy pits and his muscly arms, for example. On his bottom half we wears one of the two identical pairs of black shorts he rotates around. His skeleton gloves were forgotten somewhere around the age of thirteen, and never replaced. Around his neck he always wears his long necklace with the arcane metal symbol only he knows the true meaning of. He wears black and white checked jandals on his feet but I know he'd be just as happy to go barefoot. Not exactly a fashion king, is our Wybie. The ring finger on his right hand bears a plain silver ring with one word scribed on it: _Faith._ Which I personally think is a load of crap – the boy's about as religious as a piece of toast.

"Uh, you probably don't know the song," I say, brushing a lock of my blue hair out of my eyes. "It's 'You're Gonna Go Far, Kid' by The Offspring. Real good. Wanna listen?"

Wybie laughs a little. "Oh, uh, jeez Jonesy, I don't think my grandma would like me listening to that kind of stuff," he stumbles over. I notice he reaches up with one of his square hands and brushes hair up his forehead too, although it isn't even in his eyes. All his scruffy brown mess of a mop does these days is hang limply downwards, barely covering his ears.

"Well she obviously has no taste in music then," I shrug, smiling to show I'm kidding, and I put my earbud back in. He wants to talk, I know, but I don't and he's just going to have to live with that for now. A girl's gotta have space. I turn my thoughts instead to the lousy camp we're going to, Camp Fregoli, and engage myself in thought.

Camp Fregoli is this weird-sounding cheap-ass youth camp located, in case you hadn't already figured it out, in the middle of the woods. The pamphlet we got in the mail talked about how it 'encourages growth in young people', 'inspires new ways of thinking', and all the usual crap they cook up to con parents into sending their kids away. I think the main reason why my parents sent me was so that they could have some 'adult time'. Wybie's grandma managed to spare a penny of her inordinate wealth to send him off too, just so I wouldn't be a total awkward loner, and to give him something to do too. I actually think she thinks there's something going on between us, even though there isn't. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'd love it if there was, and if he kissed me I'd totally kiss him back… but he hasn't, so I won't. Gotta respect that friendship, bla bla bla. Plus it'd be awkward if we broke up. I've had friendships deteriorate because of stuff kinda like that, and all that resentment and awkwardness and second-guessing really gets in the way of everything. Wybie is basically my favourite person in the world, so if that happened between us, I just think I wouldn't really be able to take all that crap. And, hey look at that, what a surprise, I just got side-tracked from my train of thought. Which happens a lot with me. I might as well give up and file for retirement.

"…_with a thousand eyes and a good disguise,"_ I sing-sigh under my breath to the music, leaning more heavily against Wybie and trying not to smile as his bare arm wraps experimentally around me, the old scar on his right bicep flexing and stretching with his arm. A quick glance to the clock at the front of the bus shows nobody's getting off this bus for another two hours.

I don't mind. I close my eyes, turn my music up just a little bit more, and wait.

Wybie's arm stays around me the whole time.

* * *

**AN:**

_Well, there we go, so turns out I'm writing FanFiction again. If anyone actually reads this, tell me if it sucked or not, okay? My spelling is weird because I'm a Kiwi. And tell me in the comments who you want me to ship. I've got Coraline, Norman, Wybie and my own OC, Chane (who's a girl, fyi). If I'm OOC on anyone, don't be afraid to pipe up, though just bear in mind they're a bit older now and will have different speaking patterns and views on the world and all that crap._

_That's all I can really think of. Stay awesome guys!_

_-Kiwi Werewolf (no kidding)_


	2. Norman's POV

**Chapter Two  
Norman**

I'm the last one off the bus. The big hairy bear-like guy who introduced himself as 'Brother Pep' and gave us a big motivational speech that nobody was listening to, grins at me and counts me off.

"Aaand, forty one. Welcome to camp, my lamb. You are partnered up with… Caroline J," He smiles at me through his beard.

"Thank you very much," I smile back, holding my bag straps and taking miniature leaps of faith down the bus steps.

Outside of the bus is the main camp building, a giant wooden structure painted brown on the walls and darkish green on the roof, probably in a bizarre attempt to make it look more like a tree. To the left somewhere I can see the bathrooms and dishwashing station. I'm not entirely sure where the dormitories are, but I'm not worrying about that at the moment. All around the camp we are surrounded by thick, almost strangling forest, which makes me feel a little sick. The place smells earthy and natural, like Mother Nature's armpit or something. I immediately start to sweat out of the cover of the air conditioning, but I suppose that's all you can expect if you're wearing jeans on a hot summer day like this.

There's a crowd of kids outside the bus, all trying to find out who their activity partner is. I am approached by several different girls and asked my name, to which I shyly tell them, after which they smile vaguely and ignore me. I don't ask anyone their names. I'm too awkward for that.

"Hey, dude, what's your name?" I am asked from the side. I don't really look at the girl who spoke.

"Norman," I half-mutter, twitching my head in her direction.

"Norman?" she repeats, leaning in a bit to be heard over the chatterbabble (yes, I _did_ make that word up). "Sweet, I'm Coraline," she decides without further confirmation from me, and I look up.

She is really skinny, with long blue hair which covers her shoulders, and a brownish black beanie resting on top of her head. Her warm brown eyes are carefully outlined in eyeliner, although she obviously isn't wearing any other kinds of makeup, because I can see her light spray of freckles. She's wearing a blue t-shirt with interesting dark blue and orange patterns on them, short jeans, converse shoes, and about five different coloured bands on her right arm/wrist. She smiles at me, and I smile back.

'_She's really cute,'_ my mental voice says to myself, something which has never happened before and I used to think was just an overused book/movie cliché. We walk away from the group a little so that we can at least hear ourselves think, and once again turn our attention on to each other.

"So uh, sorry, was your name Caroline, or…?" I ask when we're away. I watch as the girl's face crumples a little, making tiger lines on her nose. She leans heavily on one hip and sighs.

"No," she confirms. "It's _Cor_aline. Not _Car_oline. God, every single time…" and she glances away, as if I'm not worth being in her sight anymore. Other kids talk awkwardly around us. The more confident ones sound almost flirty. It's all male/female pairs because Brother Pep explained he wanted the 'experiences and journeys and capabilities to be spread out equally amongst all'.

"I'm sorry," I say instantly, alarmed. "Coraline, then. Sorry," I repeat, scratching awkwardly at the back of my head and attempting to smile sheepishly at her. "I suppose it's just kind of a new name. Can I ask where it came from, or…?"

"I don't even know. My parents probably made it up," Coraline dismisses the question with a wave of her hand, which causes the bands on her arm to flick and follow her arm's movements. She seems to have forgotten her annoyance almost instantly. "They're fucking crazy like that," she tilts her head, nodding slightly when I wince at the bad language as if she was testing me, "Hey, but uh, don't feel bad. Everyone screws it up the first time. My name, I mean. I don't think I've ever met anyone who got it right at first." She shrugs, and the dull sunlight gleams off her interesting-coloured hair. She's still smiling at me.

"Uh, well," I stall, wildly trying to think of something half-interesting to say, "At least you don't have the last name 'Babcock'." A sudden summer gust of air blows against me, and I pull at the sleeves of my t-shirt to make sure I'm not sweating into it. That would be the worst thing that could happen.

"Wait, seriously?" Coraline's eyes widen, and she snorts loudly. _"Babcock?"_ she starts to laugh, then covers her mouth with her hand to stop laughing, and laughs a little more after that despite herself.

"The other side of my family are Prendergasts," I add helpfully, which cracks her up even more. A few kids standing near us glance at her to make sure she's okay.

"I'm sorry, man," Coraline holds both hands up in front of her, "But _that_ is just too funny. I'm not, like, mocking you or anything, but… oh man." And she snorts again, in a very un-ladylike manner, and rubs her lips hard, all the while looking at me with amusement.

I smile back at her. She seems okay so far. A bit weird. Laughs too much. Still pretty. So, all in all, I think she's a good person to be around. _'Make conversation,'_ my mental voice urges, so I try. "Uh, do you… know anyone else here?" I ask her, and suddenly her eyes are looking back into mine again.

"What?" she asks and leans in a little closer, so I repeat myself. "Oh," she says, and laughs a little more. "Yeah, my friend Wybie. You wait 'till ya meet him, he's neat. Awkward and unsure and nerdy. Perfect." Coraline goes into her head a little, smiling again and then asks, "So who are you with? Your girlfriend?"

I laugh and blush instantly. Overhead, there is a shaking in the trees caused by some kind of animal, maybe a bird or a possum or a very lost door-to-door-salesman. "Never had one, and I'm here on my own."

"No way! _Never_ had _any_ relationships with – hey, Wybie! Come here man!" Coraline yells over my shoulder suddenly, making me jump a little. I'm grateful for the interruption. That was just getting too personal.

We turn around and Wybie is there, with his burned-caramel skin, muscled arms, kind eyes and shaggy hair. He is with another girl, most probably his activity partner, and it is this girl who catches my eye.

She's tall and athletic-looking, wearing a baggy grey hoodie, white shorts and beat-up old tramping boots. Her hair is amazingly white and short, while her eyes are a pleasantly surprising shade of dark brown. I don't care about her physical appearance though – it is her _essence _that captures me. Alive and dead people have different essences about them. It's impossible to explain with words. In dead people, there's just something missing, or taken away, or not quite _there_. This girl, whoever she is, has kind of that feeling. She's obviously alive, anyone could tell that, but still… her strange essence remains.

"Uh, hey," Wybie says, snapping me out of it. His voice is surprisingly deep, but he stutters and stammers a bit. I'm going to admit right now I feel more than a little threatened by him. Coraline rushes up and hugs him tightly, then releases, steps back and puts a hand on my shoulder. She's quite a touchy person, Coraline.

"This is Norman," she tells him factually. I've noticed that there is always a visible smile in her words, even when she isn't smiling.

"Hey!" Wybie grins, no trace of competitively or bad-will in his voice whatsoever. We shake hands and he nods at the girl next to him. "And uh, th-this is Chane."

Chane doesn't say anything, just stares at me. There's an awkward silence for awhile, until Brother Pep pipes up from somewhere, "Okay, my lambs, now you've met your partners, come to me to pick a room to sleep in!"

"Woohoo, room time!" Coraline bellows, and we all follow the crowd around.

The girl with the dead essence slips from my view but not from my mind.

* * *

**AN:**

_Allrighty then, for like the one person reading this (thanks Mum!), I need you to tell me, who am I going to ship in this one? Remember, the shipping is totally open and anything could happen._

_Sorry for the long wait and crappy quality of this chapter, it's been a crazy week for me._

_-Kiwi Werewolf_


End file.
